


mouthful

by superstringtheory



Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feeding Kink, Steve Trevor Lives, Weight Gain, Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Diana’s busy looking at his mouth, at how good he looks with a mouthful of her baking. How beautiful he is like this, face flushed from the exertion of overeating and not from war. Stomach rounded out by indulgence, spread across her couch like some kind of glutted god.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	mouthful

**Author's Note:**

> Wonder Woman: 1984 was a trainwreck overall and if they can make a two and a half hour movie that makes no logical sense then I can do what I want with my kink fanfic of it! Tl;dr let's just presume that Steve is back and we won't worry about why or how or any of that wish stuff. Don't worry about it, the WW1984 writers sure didn't! 
> 
> (Yes I'm salty about the movie. But the line about the Pop-Tarts made me think, so here you go!)

_ “Pop-Tarts are amazing. I ate three of them!”  _

These words live rent-free in Diana’s head. Kissing Steve after that had tasted sweet, his lips dusted with sugar. She keeps thinking about it all the rest of the day and into the night, even when Steve is snoring gently beside her. 

Something about it gives her an idea, and when she awakens before the sun, she creeps out of bed to make it a reality. 

***

Diana doesn’t often make desserts- it seems wasteful when she lives on her own. But with Steve here… that same niggling sense of something has her pulling out her cookbook and paging to the “cookies, cakes, and pies” section. 

Steve’s still asleep when Diana pulls her first creations out of the oven: a set of mini-pies, crusts crisply golden. He sleeps through the sound of the hand mixer combining sugar and butter and eggs, too, but appears in the doorway just as Diana is about to slide the chocolate chip cookies into the oven. 

“What’s all this?” 

It’s still a marvel to glance up and see Steve: hair sleep-mussed, eyes soft and warm. Touching him feels like a cool drink of water after living in a desert for decades. He’s the balm to her wound, a shoulder to rest her head on. She’d almost forgotten just how heavy the crown of Themyscira can be. 

“Oh!” Diana says. “I just… it seemed like you enjoyed your Pop-Tarts, so I thought I’d make you something even better.” The explanation seems thin even to her, but she’s not even sure how to articulate it. What’s she going to tell him,  _ I like you with your mouth full? It makes me feel something and I haven’t really felt anything in decades?  _

“Better than Pop-Tarts?” Steve’s eyes twinkle as he sits on one of the stools next to the counter. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

And he is- Diana watches in a kind of low-level agony as he stuffs his face with two of the mini-pies, making sounds of abject delight. The noises are almost sexual- little moans and sighs, and a hard breath when he sets his hand on top of his stomach as he swallows the last bite of pie. His tongue flicks out from between his lips, flicking around the corners of his mouth as if he can’t bear to miss even a morsel. 

“Ah, Diana. You spoil me.” Steve looks at her, and his gaze makes her turn hot and gooey. She’d melt all over him like caramel, and wouldn’t he look so delightful licking her all over? 

“I hope you’re not done yet,” Diana says matter-of-factly. Wickedly, before she can stop herself. The timer buzzes and she bustles over to take the cookies out of the oven. The chocolate chips glisten on top and Diana has to bite her lip at the expression on Steve’s face. Desire. Raw, open-mouthed desire. 

Well, the man hasn’t eaten since 1918. What’s a girl to do but feed him a bit? So what if the girl is less a girl and more a goddess and the bit is more than that? 

*** 

It’s a lot more than a bit. Diana convinces Steve to move over to the couch for the cookies and she brings them to him on a big platter along with a large glass of milk. She’s never tried it herself but she knows from the movies that this is a thing that people do. Maybe they don’t eat an entire batch of cookies at once, but that’s beside the point. Nothing about this situation is normal. Her boyfriend died in 1918 but now he’s here on her couch. Two dozen cookies instead of a couple won’t change how weird it is. They may as well lean into it. 

Steve makes another one of those sounds of pleasure as the first cookie hits his tongue, and Diana somehow sinks down onto the couch next to him, watching as he stuffs his face with so many cookies that Diana loses count. 

He looks a little worse for the wear by the end, head tipped back against the cushions, hair catching the morning sunlight and turning it to burnished gold. 

Steve’s hand finds its way to the top of his stomach, rounded out from his indulgence, and his eyes close as he makes small rubbing motions. His belly jerks as he stifles a burp behind his other hand and he opens his eyes. 

“Sorry. I don’t normally-  _ hic _ \- get so carried away.” A slight flush tinges his face, and Diana shifts to sit on her foot. Heat curls inside her loins like a snake, ready to strike. She’s not sure yet whether it’s harmless. 

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” 

Another hiccup, then a belch, which comes too fast for him to stifle it this time. 

“Oops.” The flush deepens, and Diana leans forward, brushing his cheek with a finger. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” 

“Huh.” Steve ponders her for a long moment and the gaze is only broken when Diana looks away. 

“Well, in that case maybe you could bring me another one of those pies.” 

“Are you sure?” The words almost tangle as they rush to trip out of Diana’s mouth. She feels shivery all over, like walking a tightrope stretched between two tall buildings. 

“Absolutely,” Steve says, and Diana allows herself to fall; lets the moment and Steve’s presence catch her up like a safety net. 

“Okay,” Diana says, and pecks Steve on the cheek as she gets up. She brings the pie to him on another plate and hands him a dessert fork. 

“It’s amazing that you’re still hungry,” Diana notes when Steve immediately forks up a big bite, chewing and then swallowing audibly, letting out a little hum of pleasure. 

“Oh, I’m not,” Steve replies around his next bite. He pauses mid forkful to press a hand to the side of his belly and coax up another burp. “Excuse me, but I haven’t been hungry since about the fifth cookie.” 

Diana’s busy looking at his mouth, at how good he looks with a mouthful of her baking. How beautiful he is like this, face flushed from the exertion of overeating and not from war. Stomach rounded out by indulgence, spread across her couch like some kind of glutted god. 

“Then why keep going, if you are no longer hungry?” Steve lets out a brief moan and he blinks at her, eyes slitted. 

“I don’t know what happened. You’re a good baker, I guess.” He smiles, sheepish, and the heat inside Diana prickles again. 

“So you’re saying it’s my fault that you ate so much you can’t get up?” 

“I can get up.” Steve meets her gaze evenly. “I just don’t see a reason to right now.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yup.” Steve stretches a bit, and the t-shirt he’s wearing pulls up a little and Diana can see how his stomach has puffed out at the bottom. She wonders what it feels like, if it’s soft or firm to the touch. 

She must stare at it a little too long, because before she knows it, Steve’s fork is clattering onto the plate and he’s resting it on top of his stomach, breathing heavily. The plate is scraped clean and it might just burn Diana from the inside out to know that  _ she _ did this to him. Brought this beautiful man down like an arrow to Achilles’ heel. 

Diana takes the plate from Steve and sets it on the coffee table. Her hand finds its way to his side and up under the shirt. She presses, experimentally. There’s a layer of softness, yes, but underneath that his stomach is taut, warm to the touch. Steve makes a breathy noise as she presses again and Diana snatches her hand away. 

“No, no, keep doing it,” Steve says, catching her wrist and pulling her hand back. “Feels good.” His face screws up a bit and he lets out a long, deep belch. “Oof.” 

“Does it hurt?” Diana moves her hand upward, making small circles of pressure as she goes. 

Steve’s look is fond. Everything feels fuzzy at the edges, and Diana doesn’t know how she lived the last sixty-odd years without him, without  _ this _ . Without feeding her lover a banquet’s worth of dessert, little jolts of arousal pulsing through her each time he lets out a sound of pleasurable pain. 

“A little,” Steve admits, “but it’s a good hurt. Besides”-- and here he looks rather sly, ice-chip eyes drinking her in-- “I don’t think I’m the only one who likes it.” 

He’s not wrong, and if this is all just a dream she’s going to have to wake up from eventually, why shouldn’t she indulge herself too? 

*** 

Steve still tastes like sugar, but this time he’s like a rich caramel, thick and heavy on the tongue. Last night he’d been quick-moving, fast-burning candy. Now he’s decadent, something to be savored and tasted, over and over. 

Diana has to help him undress her-- she really wasn’t completely kidding about him not being able to get up. Moored as he is by his overindulgence, he seems to delight in her, eyes never leaving her like she’s a magnetic force that’s brought his disparate parts back to her by sheer willpower. 

She has to be careful with him as she undresses him, too- the small act of lifting his weight up so she can pull down his pants seems monumental, and he groans and belches from the effort. Diana nearly comes undone at this, and when she lowers herself down to grind against him she lets out a cry of her own, high and primal. 

“Let me,” Steve pants. “Let me taste you.” 

This isn’t something that Diana’s done before, but her body seems to know what to do, and she moves up so that she can straddle Steve’s face and he uses his tongue to break her open like a geode. For a long moment everything she feels is crystalline. 

She knows what to do for Steve, too, and it doesn’t take long before he’s groaning and then slumping bonelessly back into the couch cushions, breathing hard. 

“Love you, Diana,” he murmurs as she cleans him up with a soft washcloth. She can’t help but press her lips to his again, only stopping when he leans his head to the side to stifle another burp into his shoulder. 

“Lie down,” she tells him. “I want to savor you for a while.” 

“Gladly.” Steve makes his painstaking way to lay his head in her lap, and Diana rubs the ache of overindulgence from his stomach. 

At one point, she has to bite back a grin that unfurls from the corner of her mouth, and Steve peeks at her from beneath long eyelashes. 

“What’s so funny?” 

Diana strokes his side again, smiles down at him. 

“...I have plenty of other recipes.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [Chubstilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski) for chatting through this with me and discussing how since Chris Pine was suspiciously not shirtless in WW84 it must mean that he didn't have abs. Do with that info what you will.
> 
> Please also see [this delightful interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BHRu1CrTME) called "Chris Pine Can't Stop Eating," which has lived rent-free in my head for years now. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://superstringtheory.tumblr.com/) here if you like the same weird shit I like.


End file.
